From Russia with Loathing
by ItSureAintSad
Summary: XMFC canon.  Erik and Charles get to know each other better returning from Russia.  Rated T, Advisories: Adult content, language and situations, flashback/implied violence, concentration camp imagery, implied drug use.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Once again, groveling obeisance to Stars and Garters, my merciless (and nearly always right) editrix, who will make me a better writer in spite of myself. This will be a shorty, only 3 chapters. As for the cameo in this chapter, you're welcome.**  
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**Advisory: **Adult language and situations, implied violence and imagery may be disturbing to readers under age 13.

**Legal line**: _Characters _© Marvel Entertainment, Inc. _Characters and Situations_ created in _"X-Men: First Class"_ © 2011 Twentieth Century-Fox Corporation. Author receives no compensation from this publication.

-o0o-

The medevac-configuration craft had taken off from Rhein-Main Air Force Base in Germany without incident. The Lockheed Hercules C-130E was new; it flew steadily at 28,000 feet in a moonless night, bound for the Azores en route to Virginia.

The covert mission had proven collaterally successful, with benefits.

Erik Lensherr exited the head and made his way aft through the dimmed cabin, returning to his seat. He shrugged back into his B-9 jacket, passed a forward-moving officer without comment, settled himself once more and buckled up. He gazed out the nearest ice-cold window, into blackness punctuated only by whirling turboprops and the rhythmic pulse of red light. Ninety more minutes to the Azores, then onward. He looked forward to stretching his legs during the brief stop at Lajes Field.

Erik leaned against the fuselage and closed his eyes, cushioned with only minimal comfort by the wolverine fur-lined hood. He was just drifting off…

-_While you're up…_-

He kept his expression neutral while unbuckling once again in abrupt exasperation. Moira McTaggert glanced over at him curiously, but Erik ignored her. He waited for another forward-moving man to pass, then stalked further aft to the medevac bays.

Emma Frost lay unconscious and restrained on the first stanchion, face mostly obscured by a black rubber oxygen mask. Light glinted off a glass IV bottle; the line dripped slowly into her arm. Blanketed and secured, she appeared to not pose any problem, though Erik knew full well what the medics couldn't: with mutants, particularly one as powerful as this woman, there were problems, and then there were _problems_. Erik moved to the next stanchion.

To the casual observer, Charles Xavier looked like he was merely sacked out in-flight. To those who knew him, however, the mental vigilance he was holding against Emma Frost was plainly evident. Erik was expecting, and therefore not alarmed by, how Charles appeared even after only a few scant hours of this.

Holding Sebastian Shaw's telepath against her will for an extended time was truly holding a tiger by the tail, and Charles was the only one aboard who could do it. Emma had been suspiciously compliant for the most part since her capture, though Charles' occasional reactions made it clear she was not going quietly. Finally he'd given up any pretense of riding forward with the rest of the personnel, deciding it was just better to grin and bear it where he could keep a closer eye on her. The flight surgeon had proposed IV sedation, and that made things somewhat better for all concerned.

Charles was at present huddled up in a jacket a size too large, trying with minimal success to get some sleep. Erik tapped Charles' shoulder with a wary glance back up the aisle. Charles turned and caught his gaze.

"_What_?"Erik glared.

"They keep coming back here – ostensibly 'looking for something'…" Charles rubbed his face, bleary with fatigue.

"And looking at her. No doubt." Erik nodded. "I told you, Charles. Now see how we're already on display for them."

"I rather think it's due to the fact she's a pretty girl held hostage on a military craft, but that's just a guess," Charles groused.

"Moira's a girl too," Erik countered.

"_Moira_ can handle herself."

"And how are _you_ handling Miss Frost? You look rather peaked; I'm sure she's lovely." Erik quipped.

"I'm sure I look like hell. That first hour was quite the adventure. The sedative did the trick, only it spills over into _my_ mind as well, so now it's hard to think straight. But it's better than fighting her the whole way. At any rate, all this activity doesn't help. It's disturbing my concentration."

"So what do you expect _me_ to do about it?"

"Sit in that last row and stop them doing it. We're not here for their entertainment!" Charles flared.

"No need to show teeth, Charles. And I _am_ right, you know," Erik's smug amusement was maddening. He spied the opened Meal, Combat, Individual carton and cans nearby, and nodded toward them. "Do you want the rest of my MCI?"

"Oh, my God, no. I couldn't eat what they gave me."

"Nor should you. It isn't even food, as I understand the definition. Although Moira and I did have the most interesting conversation with a Special Ops about how the peanut butter makes an excellent smoke candle, how to turn the B-unit can into a field stove, and how a chunk of C-4 plastic explosive makes a hotter cooking flame than the fuel tablet. It was all very educational."

Erik had contemplated the highly efficient meal, remembered another cardboard package, from that winter's day_ not so very long ago_, when he would have killed for one…when people _had_ died for them.

Unwanted memories flooded forward…

-o0o-

The Allied truck burst the unguarded, padlocked gate open with greater force than Erik could have mustered. Sporadic gunfire peppered the camp - Allies shooting the remaining guards who attempted escape, guards who shot prisoners in a vain last-ditch attempt to silence truth. All alone in the world now, more frightened than he'd ever been at Schmidt's hands, the terror of being shot _on the very brink of freedom _had overwhelmed Erik.

He _felt_ a bullet whiz past, heard a scream, turned in time to see the guard fall heavily behind him. He hoped _he'd _done it.

And then, _silence_. It was all over.

Days ago, things had changed - even through the soul-crushing pain and horror of daily existence, Erik had noticed it. Klaus Schmidt had stopped asking for him to be brought in - for the insidious man always _asked so politely, _never demanded or ordered - and the activity level amongst the camp guards and staff had increased, _intensified_ somehow. Bewildered, the prisoners kept their heads down, but furtive whispers had trickled amongst them.

_The Allies were coming._

And then the trains had come once more, prisoners reloaded for transport to points unknown, many more shot, thousands of bodies left in great heaps as the crematories failed from the overwhelming volume.

The only good thing about winter was the freezing cold kept the stench of decomposition at bay.

The day prior, Schmidt had finally asked for him again, but had done nothing to Erik - merely spoken, as false and smiling as ever as he boarded a staff car.

"You and I, we're going on a little adventure to the Tyrol, Erik, a much nicer and safer place to continue our studies, wouldn't you agree? I must ride with these men now, but I've arranged everything for you. Tomorrow will come another train, for only the _best_ people here, for _you_, Erik. And it will bring you to me. Just wait here tonight, only one more night, and get on the train tomorrow. The guards will know where to put you."

The car sped off in a spray of slush and black ice, and that was the last time Erik had seen Klaus Schmidt.

Then the camp and nearby village had emptied almost entirely of officers, staff, guards and their families. They'd simply chained and padlocked the camp gates. Erik tried to break it with all his might, but to no avail. Even if he could, where would he go?

The next hours had been just as filled as ever with hunger and cold, death all around and night terrors, but a new _uncertainty_ permeated the camp. Most of the guards were gone, still nobody dared move or speak out of turn. The thousands of unburied bodies lay in gruesome silent heaps. Erik heard the other children crying in the freezing darkness of the Children's Building, but he was numb to everything about him now.

In the watery light of dawn, the promised train had never come.

In its place, now more Jeeps and trucks roared in, Allied soldiers inundating the camp grounds - Erik recognized them as primarily American, but there were other insignia he didn't recognize as well. Wary, Erik had peered out the window at them - who were _these_ men, after all, but merely more who would now possess his fate?

What difference did a uniform's color make?

Stunned by the initial sights alone, the Allied soldiers quickly got down to it. Erik saw three men in the back of one of the trucks, throwing out small cardboard packages to prisoners now crying, pleading, desperately reaching. Erik didn't care what it was, he wanted one too. It had to be food. He stumbled forward, focusing and reaching with his mind as well as dirty hands. But his nascent power remained cruelly capricious; he was so tired and cold.

A tall, lithe brown-haired officer saw him. "Heads up, kid." The man pitched one out, and Erik caught it easily.

"Whoa, nice arm, Jimmy, you should play for the Yankees," another soldier quipped.

Cradling his prize, Erik had run around behind the Children's Building and huddled into an inconspicuous heap while the tide of liberation swirled around him. He didn't care, he was _hungry. _ He broke into the tins and wolfed down everything in them. He perused the packets of coffee and cigarettes curiously, pocketed them - he would quickly learn to trade these. Schmidt had kept him better-fed than the others, of course, but . . .

_Schmidt!_

Erik's breath caught. _The Tyrol._ They had to find him, capture him, _kill_ him! Erik bolted up, then ran stumbling back to the trucks, where the food apparently was all gone by now. He saw the three men were now standing next to their vehicle; they stiffened briefly at his erratic approach. One nudged the officer called Jimmy and pointed toward him.

_Hey Howlett, your friend's back. Jesus, he's just a kid! _

_Sie müssen mit mir kommen!_

Jimmy smiled gently, but Erik recognized a familiar depth of anger in the man's sable gaze. The soldier extended a hand to guide Erik toward the waiting transport truck.

_C'mon, kid, let's go find your Mama._

_Nein! Kommen Sie mit mir! Wir brauchen einen Arzt! _

_What the hell's he - hey Liebowitz, c'mere, what's this kid saying? _

Another soldier turned away from a clutch of meek, crying prisoners and approached them. Erik saw a gold Star of David pendant glinting in the dilute winter sun. The man's kind face and eyes ill-concealed the numbing horror they'd witnessed so far that day. He smiled warmly at Erik.

_Ich bin ein Jude…Was brauchst du, Kind?_

_Sie mussen einen Arzt suchen!_

_He needs a doctor._

_Yeah, don't they all…come on, kid, we'll go find you a doctor, _Jimmy nodded pointedly toward the truck. Liebowitz nodded, smiled in encouragement and led Erik to the transport - also with a star, this one white. He gave Erik another C-ration and a blanket, helped him aboard amongst several urgent medical cases, and the truck had taken Erik Lensherr away, from one hell to another. Just as he had been taken before, but now to a future with only _one_ certainty in the entire world…

…_he was alone._

Liebowitz sat with him, reached into a pocket and produced a Hershey bar. He extended it and smiled with a genuine kindness Erik had not seen on the face of another human being in months.

_ Wie ist dein name, Sohn?_

"Erik?..._Erik..._"

Erik gave a hard start, thoughts shuddering violently back to the present. Charles was watching him with apprehensive intensity.

"What?" Erik blurted, cursing his lapse. The incisive blue gaze made him shiver - even with his powers focused entirely upon guarding Emma, Charles must have caught _something_ before Erik could pull it away. The telepath smiled with what Erik had already come to recognize as habitual conciliatory kindness, extending a small packet.

"You can have my chocolate if you want."

"I _hate_ chocolate."

Charles did feel a flicker of …something, but it was snuffed in an instant.

Erik changed the subject. "We'll be on the Azores in about an hour; I'll see if I can find something palatable while we're refueling."

"I will be forever in your debt." Charles twisted back around to face the bulkhead, hunkering further down into his jacket with a discomfited sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles awoke with a start, suddenly aware of the silence around him - no engines, no hiss of pressure, no movement, no _minds…_ Twisting himself too-quickly upright, he looked woozily up the aisle - the front exits and cockpit door were wide open, and the cabin was deserted other than himself, Emma and a single guard. Then he heard voices outside. A vehicle pulled up under the wing.

_The Azores._ _We're at Lajes Field._

Oriented at last, he slid down to the deck. A long moment of vertigo hit, and he braced himself on the litter until it passed. He checked Emma's status, then moved forward to the head. The guard acknowledged him with disinterest.

When he was done, Charles turned to wash up. He slipped off his wrist-watch, noting the time.

_New day_.

He couldn't even remember what time zone this was.

Gazing in the inadequate mirror, Charles scarcely recognized the face that stared back.

_New lines, new dark circles._

He looked a decade older, even without the ghastly lighting. He tried to splash some color back into the tight pallor. Existence at present was a collision of pulse-pounding headache, insomnia, dehydration, strain of minding the sedated Emma and, though ebbing, the lingering siren whisper of Cerebro.

Earlier in the journey, the flight surgeon had offered him a "go pill," but Charles had demurred. Years ago at an all-night study session, he _had _taken up a well-intentioned fellow's offer of a Dexedrine. It had more than done the trick. . . accompanied by unique and unpleasant side effects. That had been both the first _and _last time for _that_.

For a hot shower and shave alone, his immortal soul would have made an easy bargain.

_Charles Francis Xavier, PhD in Genetics_, destined for a quiet life and successful scientific career. They'd told him he could write his own ticket…except nobody had told him _that_ particular ticket would come prepaid. In the span of a few days, he had been proven beyond right, beyond wildest imagining_. _ Going _home_ seemed an unattainable fantasy now, even with all his talent and abilities.

_And while we're on that subject… _his merciless, energetic thoughts taunted him. _Erik Lensherr_.

So much power, under tenuous control at best, in lethal combination with the single-minded will of so much cold-blooded _anger_! This mutant's - this _man_'_s_ reality was an utterly foreign one that encroached upon Charles Xavier's ordered mind and predicted life like an invading force: a fractured disarray of steel-cored terror and agony and killing and _rage._ He shuddered with recalled intensity.

Charles hadn't intended to glean _everything_ from the other man's mind, any more than Erik had wanted him to. He'd sought only enough to get Erik to break off his pursuit, to keep from killing himself - killing them both. But struggling through the Atlantic depths - both men at death-point as they desperately fought to breach the silver ceiling - the overriding survival instinct of primitive brains had prevailed and _it had_ _happened._

Only later at the CIA facility had Charles come to realize that the brief imprint of Erik's psyche _wasn't_ fading with time, as had always occurred before.

How much, if anything, Erik had gotten from _him_, Charles couldn't even hazard a guess. And Erik wasn't exactly forthcoming.

Charles's thoughts replayed that night in detail, searching for any clue. He _had_ to reach this man - his fellow mutant, his_ friend_ - before something unspeakable transpired…

-o0o-

Following the ungainly pickup by the Zodiac boats and the quick choppy ride back to the cutter, they stood in the amidships gangway, surrounded by a clutch of officers, security personnel and suited-up rescue divers. Charles, Moira and the Man in Black got their first good look at the new addition.

Tall and slender, Erik was kitted out for freediving in a gleaming black Voit wetsuit and dive sheath, which Charles noted was empty. Erik accepted a proferred towel with a nod, but made no move to use it. Active and suspicious, his gaze catalogued each of them in turn before appraising Charles with greater scrutiny.

Presently the telepath wasn't at his best - soaking wet in ruined clothing, briskly starting to towel off. Moira draped a blanket around him, and he smiled at her in thanks. Erik's expression conveyed in no uncertain terms astonishment that he'd been overpowered by this smaller man in street clothes - a man who could communicate with his mind.

"So what's the story here?" the Man in Black prompted, while the ship's captain kept a weather eye on the proceedings. "Another mutant? This one can what, lift heavy objects and wreck boats?"

"Magnetokinetic," Charles blurted with an enthusiastic smile while toweling his hair. "Manipulation of magnetic fields, and so I'd expect ferromagnetic metals as well, yes?" he glanced at Erik for confirmation.

"Something like that," Erik frowned at the divulgence. He watched the Man in Black warily, but rather than displaying disgust or fear, the portly man seemed genuinely delighted. He strode jovially forward on Erik, a friendly hand extended.

"Good evening, sir, my name is - "

In an explosive, fluid motion, Erik crouched back against the bulkhead and went for his knife an instant before he remembered it was gone. In a flash, the sheaths of the four rescue divers emptied, their blades homing on him. Erik brandished one mid-flight; the other three whirled and paused, ready to streak out.

"_Stay back!"_ he snarled.

Shouts of dismay and barked orders filled the gangway. Sidearms were drawn . . . only to harmlessly fall away.

In the commotion, Charles noted the airborne blades were starting to wobble. Denied his original target, the man was exhausted, in a fury…and about to get himself killed. Before Moira could stop him, Charles stepped quickly between Erik and the others.

"Everyone, _calm down_," he said firmly.

And they did.

The three suspended knives clattered to the deck, but Charles knew the fourth was still very much aimed in the vicinity of his right kidney. When he was certain nobody was going to attack, he turned and faced Erik. The taller man heard the echoing voice in his head once more.

-_Calm your mind, Erik. _Nobody here is going to hurt you.-

Charles spoke without a trace of nerves. "They're CIA, and they're after Shaw as well. We can work together, help each other capture him. All right?"

Erik stared at the intent blue gaze for any sign of duplicity. Finding none, and always keeping options open, he nodded and handed the final blade back to its owner.

-o0o-

The plane was topped off under the harsh glare of bright lights. Most of the crew and servicemen milled about in the smoking areas, enjoying their last drags before departure. Having rustled up some leftover local goods and extra blankets, Erik headed back out onto the airfield. He was almost through the last doorway when he heard conversation ahead of him. Stepping into shadow, he listened.

"Look, if she's _that_ dangerous, why don't we just ice her now, solve everyone's problems?"

"We need her because of that other guy the suits are after. When that's done, we can kill every one of them, as far as I'm concerned."

"That mind-reader professor would be good to hang onto – flush out Commies and other subversives. You saw what he did back there. They actually believed they didn't _see_ us. How'd he do that?"

"Yeah, good point. Force them to keep working for us, that's a better idea. And figure out how to breed more of them."

"Well, start with that honey, she's a mind-reader too. I'd volunteer for _that _mission."

"Yeah - real _hard_ duty." The two laughed and walked back toward the plane.

After a moment, Erik followed with a grim smile. Any gratitude he'd once felt for the Allied armed forces was gone now.

_You all deserve what's coming._

-o0o-

Back in place and looking very rough around the edges, Charles was now leaning against the fuselage, blanket around his shoulders, pinching the bridge of his nose. Erik set the supplies on an unoccupied litter, then turned and unbuckled Emma. Charles glanced around in alarm.

"What are you doing?"

Erik stretched another blanket over the woman and secured her once again. "We have clearance on the shortest flight path, but that takes us right along the edge of polar jet stream, so it's going to be bumpy and damned cold. Go stretch your legs, I've got her covered," he chuckled at his own joke.

"Already done. And please tell me that's for us," Charles nodded toward what looked to be real food.

"That's for us. There wasn't much left over from the day's local trade," Erik produced fruit, cheese… and a flask. He poured wine into two nondescript food-service paper coffee cups. "No promises," he warned, handing one over.

"You are a wonder," Charles grinned in anticipation. Erik scooted up onto an adjacent litter to face him. They toasted and drank, but otherwise ate in silence. Charles didn't need telepathy to see something was wrong.

"What is it?"

With a warning look, Erik tapped his own forehead. Sighing, Charles focused just enough precious reserve to project the conversation Erik had overheard.

"I _told_ you." Erik's eyes glittered in the darkened medevac bay. "When we get back, once I finish Shaw, we take the others and _go_. No more CIA, no more government operations."

"It's too late, they have the printouts from Cerebro." _From me_, Charles thought, sickened at the very idea.

"I destroyed them before we left. Printouts _and_ ribbons"

"My God, you don't trust _anybody_."

Erik glared. "I trust _you_ to find us a safe base of operations. Get the boy to build another Cerebro, improve on it. We'll have it_ all_ back, for us _alone,_ on _our_ terms."

Charles shook his head. "They'll still have theirs."

"And _who_ will run it?"

"They have her."

"_She's_ with Shaw. I don't intend to leave her as a loose end, particularly not for _them_ to use against us after I've dealt with him."

"No. I can't believe they would…" Charles rejected the very notion. "Do you know what you're saying?"

Erik coughed a laugh. _"You're_ now saying that _Homo sapiens sapiens_ will_ not_ be our mortal enemy? That sheepskin hanging on your wall is _based_ on it, Charles. 'Peaceful cohabitation, if ever it existed, was short-lived…' Yes, I read your thesis."

Charles' startled expression earned a scornful chuckle. Erik expected Moira had not even yet noticed her copy was missing. Having cornered the other man, Erik pressed his point further.

"Finding it a little difficult to defend the academic against reality? Charles, your insular existence thus far has known only privilege, abstracts of history, theories and laboratories. You know _nothing_ of life." They assessed each other anew in brief silence, each man holding secret his own thoughts.

For not the first time in recent days, and on this mission in particular, Charles felt an increasing ominous dismay about that which he'd set in motion. He _had _to turn this man's anger, plumb the deep strata of pain for the bright goodness Charles had glimpsed . . . at _any_ cost.

They heard the fuel lines being disconnected. Erik jumped down. "Back to bed with your pretty maid."

"Strange - just a few weeks ago, I was happy," Charles mused. He swung his legs back up, restive, trying with small success to find a comfortable position.

"Aren't you the lucky one."

Erik dropped a second blanket over Charles, strapped him in for the rough ride, then patted his hood roughly with a sardonic grin. "You two kids have fun."

Charles winced in annoyance. "Tell me when we're about 200 miles out, I might be able to start reaching the others even at altitude."

"Right. And _don't_ wake me up unless it's important."

-o0o-


	3. Chapter 3

An hour from arrival, the dawn streamed in through the plane's few windows. Charles had moved forward once more to attend the post-flight procedure briefing.

He hadn't slept at all since the Azores; the turbulence, temperature and revelatory dialogue with Erik had unsettled him even further. Adding to his previous strain, he now more than once caught his attention slipping. The telepathic 'fog' was clearing, just as the plane might enter a new vector of radio contact. Satisfied that Emma was under sufficient chemical control, he withdrew from her mind and started 'pinging' projections, searching for Raven, for the Man in Black, for Hank McCoy.

Charles' telepathy established a 'marker buoy' in any mind with which he actively communicated, whether by direct design or not. The target minds would not feel this; their owners would never even know, unless he told them.

He typically did not; it just made things much easier not to. But with Hank McCoy, it had been different.

Charles had asked, and Hank had told.

Charles had suggested the idea of establishing permanent mutual communication for their sessions with Cerebro, in case anything went wrong. The young genius had been so enthusiastic at the prospect - possessing the ability of at-will telepathic exchange with the geneticist - Charles had found it endearing. He got the distinct impression that the boy considered their very presence, let alone Charles' encouragement and infectious enthusiasm, as practically Christmas come early. In Hank, Charles had found a fascinating, kindred spirit - the familiar structured mind of a scientist, yet with something shadowed, patrolling warily on the periphery _just out of sight_. In such an eager and welcoming subject, seating telepathy between them had taken almost no effort at all, and Hank's expression on his first trial run had been sheer delight.

Charles' reverie was interrupted: an unsettling banging sound within the ceiling, which had plagued the craft since the Azores, suddenly increased in volume and intensity. Everyone looked up in varying degrees of concern. Exasperated, Erik swore under his breath, unbuckled and rose. He bridged a hand on the fuselage, and in seconds the noise stopped. He sat back down.

"New plane," he commented with a wry smile. "That was really getting annoying. Do continue."

Doubtful glances all around, then the briefing resumed. Charles' fatigued mind drifted along another telepathic dragnet for familiar minds - but so far, nothing yet. All he could sense were Emma, and of course Moira and Erik. He looked over at each in turn: Moira was listening attentively to the Special Ops mission CO, and Erik was, as typical, watching _him_. Charles' brow furrowed under the scrutiny.

_ "Charles."_

Charles started and blinked at Moira. . . then realized in flustered horror that _everyone_ was watching him.

-Still with us over there, lab rat_?-_

Charles shot a glare at Erik's aloof amusement.

"Is everything all right?" Moira frowned.

Charles squinted hard and fought to clear his mind. "Yes, I -I'm so sorry. Say again?"

Moira reiterated. "We were wondering if it would be best to transfer Miss Frost packaged just as is. We have a cell that's suitable for her at Richmond. If we keep her under, nobody has to worry about mind control during the transfer, and the med team can handle her."

"Y-yes," Charles nodded carefully. "I should think that would be best."

"Very well," the mission CO relayed orders to the pilot.

Charles managed to keep attentive for a few more minutes, but the pull of distraction worsened. It now took greater and greater conscious effort just to stay on point. True, over the past days he'd been running on high fairly constantly as far as his powers were concerned, but now his natural ability suddenly felt _unwieldy, _which was a new and unnerving sensation. He confirmed it wasn't interference from Emma. Was it fatigue, overuse, or something more? Even after his worst weekend tear-ups, his telepathy had _never_ slipped like this.

Another alarming notion occurred to him: _My God, maybe Erik's right! Could this be an aftereffect of Cerebro? _

His telepathy spiked then, a ping back from - Hank, of course. A _strong _one. Charles realized in astonishment the boy was actively trying to reach _him! That _was it. Accepting that explanation, Charles relaxed, and anchoring calm flooded his mind once more. Brushing at his head, he focused his projection.

-Hank?-

-_Professor!_ Is that you?-

Charles smiled in spite of himself. _Who else would it be?_ -Yes, Hank, we'll be on the ground in . . . -

But Hank cut him off mid-thought.

-_Sebastian Shaw attacked last night …_ He killed almost everyone here. They blew up the Admin building. . . Angel's gone with Shaw. Darwin's dead . . . a _lot_ of people are dead._- _Hank's tumbling thoughts and memories were a confusion of shock and defeat.

_ "What?" _Charles exclaimed aloud, startling everyone. Blanching, he leapt to his feet, pointed towards Erik and Moira. "I have Hank! Shaw was _there_ last night! He destroyed the facility, murdered agents, security officers . . . employees . . ."

"_Jesus!" _Moira cried. She and the CO unbuckled and hurried toward the cockpit.

"_Goddamnit_!" Erik erupted, his face a rictus of impotent rage. _What else?_ He bolted up once more and grabbed Charles' arm. "_The files_! _What did he get?"_

Everyone started shouting questions at once.

"_Quiet!"_ Charles snapped, and focused again. Alongside him, Erik was taut and coiled to pounce on any tidbit of information. Charles didn't even register the man's grip on him. He gasped a breath, terrified to ask.

-Hank, is Raven. . . -

-She's fine. So are Sean and Alex.-

-_Charles!-_ Raven's voice in his head was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. But his relief was short-lived.

-Charles, Levine's dead. So's the Man in Black. I liked him. And. . . they blew up the labs. Charles . . .they destroyed Cerebro. Nothing's left.- Hank was desolate; he still couldn't believe his haven of discovery and creation had disintegrated overnight.

"Oh, my _God_. Cerebro's gone. It's _all_ gone." Charles swayed at the devastating news, and Erik's grip tightened to steady him.

-Hank, tell everyone, just hang on, we're on the way, we'll be there soon.-

Charles broke off and sagged against a seat back. He braced his free arm on one knee, fighting down nausea.

_Angel gone over, friendly agents dead. Darwin…a week ago, just a man living his life, making his way in the world, dead now…_

…_because I found him._

"Blood on my hands already, and we haven't even started." Charles murmured.

At this, Erik roughly propelled Charles away from the others, into a narrow vestibule. Grabbing his shoulders, Erik spun him face-on, shook him back to the here-and-now.

"This is what _happens_ in war, Charles. Now it's happened to you. Now you _have_ it. _Use_ it." He could see what . . . _who_ was on Charles' mind. -He _chose _to come with us, made his own decision. He knew the risks.-

Charles' raw gaze dragged up to meet Erik's gleaming ferocity.

-Did he? What was it Emma said, 'They have bigger things to worry about right now…'-

Charles made his decision, and spoke with cold resolve.

"This is _over_, Erik. _Now_. I'll not participate in, not be responsible for - be the _cause of_ - any more deaths of innocents, mutant _or_ human. Darwin was an adult, but I _will_ _not_ put Raven in harm's way, and the boys are _children_ still."

"You _predicted_ this," Erik reiterated in a sharp hiss. "It's begun, you're _already_ part of it, and there is _no_ going back for any of us. You _agreed_ to this."

Charles returned Erik's baleful oceanic glare. "_My _agreement was to help the CIA _stop_ Shaw. As of now, this plan is scrubbed. As for the rest, Erik, yes, I predicted it, but history has ever done so without me, and without me it shall continue. _Let me go_."

After a tense standoff, Erik released him with stony contempt. Charles pressed by him, moving forward to tell Moira. He winced as Erik's thought speared his mind.

_-We are not finished.-_


End file.
